Everything
by Slug4Life
Summary: Yet another 'After Always' story. Beckett is still Beckett and Castle is still Castle. How will that shape their first morning together?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights reserved to MilMar, ABC, etc. I'm just borrowing them for right now ... till Sept 24th. **

Her first sense is smell. Warm, woody mingled with something unfamiliar. She takes a deep breath and soft light pierces her eyes through her closed eyelids. Opening them reveals soft rays of early morning light filtering in through unfamiliar windows flecked with the last few drops of rain from the night before. Soft pinks and grays flood the sky over a building she doesn't recognize. Raising her head she sees a familiar piece of clothing dangling from the lamp beside her and it all comes flooding back. His soft lips on her skin, his hands roaming her body. The way his fingers laced with hers as he loomed heavy over her driving her wild and loving her.

She stretches the arm that was tucked under her pillow out along the soft sheets, her fingers curling in memory. A soft smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Yes. This. She shifts to roll onto her back, the delicious ache in her body reminding her she is alive. She cranes her neck and catches his body silhouetted by his dark sheets. She can see the rise and fall of his ribs as he lays on his side facing her, his breath dancing softly across her bare shoulder. She shifts further and a twinge snakes through her ribs up to her shoulder. Shit. The bastard got her good.

A hand pressed to her belly, she settles on her back, her eyes trained on Castle's sleeping face, his mouth slack and hair hanging over his closed eyes, fist around the pillow under his chin. She almost fell off of a building and all she wanted at that moment was him. Him. There. Like he always was to save her, to be the first face she saw after a near brush with death, to joke about it and squelch the fear a little so that she could swallow it with grace and move on.

She feels the grit of the concrete under her fingers, hears the click of her boots not able to grip the brick. Her breath catches and she squeezes her eyes shut against the faint taste of adrenaline and overwhelming regret. God. What if she had fallen? What if Ryan hadn't gone to Gates and been there to catch her? There was a thought ... Ryan.

Suddenly she's sitting up and running a shaky hand through her mussed hair. Her fingers settle over her mouth as it all replays before her. The beating she took, the hatred she felt for the man who had nearly cost her the life that Castle had bargained to keep safe, her overwhelming regret as she hung from the ledge pleading for Castle to come pull her up only to look into Ryan's blue eyes rimmed with apology and guilt. God, Ryan. Anger flares in her chest at his backstabbing. A tickling thought cools it as she realizes ... Had Ryan not said anything she would likely be dead and Esposito would be blaming himself. Huh, Esposito. God, what has she done?

She slips from beneath the soft sheets, walking on tip toe on the hardwood floors searching for something to cover herself. She has to walk away, find something else to occupy her mind. Just for a few minutes. Just to push it away and keep it there. Keep it from invading this moment.

She comes across her underwear and his shirt in the same corner of his room. How ... She shakes her head. She knows how. Everything had been so frenzied and on fire. Neither of them cared where their clothes ended up. She smirks in the dim light remembering her bra hanging from the lamp. Quietly she turns the knob on his bedroom door, slips out into his office as she buttons up his shirt over her exposed chest. She pauses and presses her nose into the collar, her eyes fluttering for a second before she moves around his desk for the kitchen. The loft is quiet in the soft rays of sun that slowly began to dance along the dark wood interior. A car horn blares in the distance as the hardwood under her feet becomes the slate of his kitchen. His kitchen. She smiles and lets her eyes float over to the cook top where she had prepared brunch for them two years ago after her apartment had gone up in flames. A small pang of regret hits her stomach and she draws a shaky breath. Coffee.

The ease at which she finds the coffee in the cabinet above the coffee maker, the mugs where she remembers them being that day she cooked, the spoons and creamer ... This works. She knows where everything is. Her eyes drift toward his office as the sound of the coffee pot boiling and dripping fills her ears. Everything.

He feels the fog of sleep drifting away as the sharp fingers of dawn lick at his eyelids. Scrunching his face he uncurls his hand from around his pillow and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The soft scent of cherries and musk hits him and his head snaps up. What ... Kate. His eyes fall to the rumpled sheets next to him, the slight dampness on the pillow where her still wet hair had settled the night before. His gut twists. Oh, God. Oh, Kate. He squeezes his eyes shut and rolls onto his back, the crook of his elbow resting over his eyes. She's gone. He knew. He knew it was all momentary adrenaline and flowery words brought to the surface by a brush with death. They had done this dance before ... Well, not that dance, that was new, but this dance around the truth. He thought she was different from the moment she said she wanted to join him for a ridiculous double feature.

Flashes of her face as she had told him nothing mattered, she didn't care, all she wanted was him, passes behind his eyelids. Her wet hair framing her face as she lay against his dark sheets, her soft skin rippling beneath his fingers. It was too much. Was this her gift to him? Her parting words and one night of letting him love her before she vanished again? He feels the sting of tears in his eyes and skin softly colliding with his hand thats hung off the side of the bed.

"Scoot over."

He jolts and his elbow falls to his chest. He blinks, unbelieving, up at the woman he was just about to curse, holding two mugs, wearing a smile and his shirt. Her smile fades and her eyes soften as she sets the mugs down on the bedside table.

"castle?" she says softly, her hand snaking out to thread through his hair, settling at the crown of his head. She searches his face, her thumb wiping at the soft skin under his eye. She's here. She didn't leave. She ... Brought him coffee? A smile breaks out across his face.

"Kate," he breathes. And her face changes.

"Oh, God. You ... You thought I left ... Oh, Castle."

She nudges his hip with her knee to shove him over and slides to the bed next to him, her hip settling at his tight, her foot under her, knee at his ribs. The hand that had been behind his head settles at his ear, earlobe softly clasped between her thumb and forefinger. This is new, this touching. He feels the ghost of her hands grabbing him the night before. The way her fingers fisted in his hair as he pressed her against his front door not being able to hold back any longer. She keeps her eyes on his, stares at him. Her lips quirk and she sighs.

"Rick ... I wouldn't ... Couldn't. After ... " her eyes trail to the middle of the bed and she presses her lips together suppressing the grin that wants to break free. Her eyes flick back to his, shining in the early morning light flooding the room. Her face changes to one he has seen before. In the bank. When the world faded away and all that was there was them, her hand on his jacket, a smile on her face and in her eyes.

He can't hold it back anymore. Before she can say anything else, he sits up and crushes her to his chest, her elbow trapped between them. She pants against his other ear, her lips brushing it softly. She feels her ribs twinge under the pressure, her hip spike sharply from where she hit the ledge before rolling over it. Somehow she doesn't care. It doesn't matter.

"Ssh, Castle. Ssh. I'm here," she whispers, her hand running up and down his bare side to sooth him. Shit. How did she keep doing this? Even after everything ... Her nose finds his neck, breaths him in. "I'm sorry ... Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Castle. I just ..."

He silences her with his mouth. Her lips are startled under his, her breathing short. Her eyes slip shut as he slowly kisses her apologies away. This is new, this slow, soft kissing. The kiss of two people in love. Kate pulls away first, her nose resting against his, her eyes still closed. He watches her lashes flutter and open, her eyes dark and coated with love as she focuses on him. She kisses him, two soft brushes of lips, before pushing away from him and reaching for the forgotten mugs on the table.

"Your coffee is getting cold." He smiles. Because of her. She smiles in return before grasping the mug and lifting it. Her ribs choose that moment to lick fire up into her shoulder and she winces as she hands him the mug of coffee. Her hand flutters to her side as she grabs her own mug and brings it to her lips, her eyes finding Castle's again. She pauses mid sip at the look of concern on his face. Shit, she needs to tell him. Tell him everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights reserved to MilMar, ABC, etc. I'm just borrowing them for right now ... till Sept 24th.**

Kate stares into the dark liquid of her coffee trying to find the words for what had happened. This is Castle, words are important. No, more than important, they are his way of life, his way of seeing the world. Words are so important. It strikes her that words have been so absent in their relationship. Painfully absent. Subtext and glances were what they had survived on for the passed four years and it wasn't enough. Her eyes find his as her mug rests on her knee. She owes him so much, so many words that she has to make up for.

"Did I ..."

"No!" she interrupts him, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers. "No, Castle. I ... I wasn't fast enough ... Wasn't strong enough. He got the drop on me ... On the roof. God, I was so stupid ..." she glances back down at her coffee willing the words to float up out of the darkness. "He left me hanging from the ledge-"

"What?!" he breathes, his fingers gripping hers tighter.

"I told you I nearly died ... I almost fell-"

"Kate-"

" Just ... Ssh, Castle. Let me get this out. You need to know."

He stares at her for a moment, his mouth open in mid-syllable. With a sigh, he sits back against the pillows, releasing the tight grip he has on her fingers. She's here, she's alive. If she wants to tell him, he'll let her.

"All I could think about was you. Even as my hand slipped from the ledge. I thought I heard you calling for me. I swore it was you. Just as I lost my grip you grabbed me, pulled me up. But it was Ryan, not you, that looked at me with such ... Guilt? God, Castle, I just wanted it to be you ..."

He pulls on her hand, there joined fingers squeezing. She discards her mug on the nightstand and let's him guide her into his arms. Her legs across his thighs, her head tucked under his chin as he brushes a kiss to her hair. She can feel him sigh, suddenly calmer just having her closer, and turns her nose into the hollow of his throat.

"I should have been there, Kate. I should have been your backup instead of-"

"No," she shakes her head, the tip of her nose brushing his Adams apple. "No, Castle. If you had been there we might both be dead. He took Esposito out before I blindly, stupidly, ran after him. All of my training, everything I stood for as a cop went out the window. All I could see was that he was getting away and I had to stop him. I had to win. My vengeance blinded me to it all," she sat up to look into his face, her fingers brushing the soft skin beneath his eye and trailing back behind his ear, her thumb sweeping his earlobe. "You had every right to walk away, Rick. I gave you no reason to stay."

Something flickers in his eyes. The ghost of a memory haunting him, invading this tender moment between them. She can't stand it. The memories of what she did to him when she wasn't ready to face him and the love that he so freely gave her. Her fingers curl at his neck bringing their foreheads together. She closes her eyes and they breathe together fora moment.

"I'm -"

"If you say 'sorry' one more time, Kate Beckett, I swear ..." he interrupts her.

She huffs out a laugh against his chin before raising her head and smiling at him. His lips quirk and he drinks from the mug he still holds.

"You owe me about 99 more of these."

She openly laughs, the melodic sound filling the room with its warmth. He grins and she kisses it away, her fingers snaking into his hair and scratching lightly as her teeth pull at his bottom lip. Her nose brushes his as she releases him, her own bottom lip taking the place of his. She takes a breath, resting in the moment, the sensation of his lips and the faint taste of coffee.

"You taste like coffee," she whispers, her eyelashes fluttering against the side of his nose. She looks into his eyes then, her fingers untangling from his resting on her thigh and brushing his lips much the same way as the night before. Her thumb swipes his bottom lip and he stares at her with that dumbstruck look on his face like she just did something so unlike her. She likes it. She likes knowing that she is still a mystery to him, that she can still surprise him after four years ... That she can share something new with him. She turns to reach for her coffee and his fingers grip her leg. She glances back to him, her hand suspended in the air, confusion knitting her brow. The concern in his eyes makes her face slack and her hand falls to cover his.

"I'm okay," she says softly.

His hand releases her leg and grips her fingers to guide hers to his mouth. His lips sweep her knuckles, down the back of her hand to her wrist bone and then his fingers turn her palm into his lips. Her breath catches, her eyes flutter for a moment and then it's over. He drops her hand, grabs the mug on the bedside table and hands it to her. Her mouth hangs open a moment, her hand still tingling from the sensation of his lips on her skin. He smirks and she gives him her best glare before taking the proffered mug.

"Smugness is unattractive in bed," she quips before sipping at her coffee.

"Not when it's the truth," he says as he wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She quirks an eyebrow at him and grips her mug with both hands. She lets her head fall to his shoulder and a spike of pain shoots through her ribs as her neck bends. She gasps, thankful she has ahold of her coffee with both hands. The mug is suddenly taken from her, clanking against its mate as Castle discards them one handed, his other hand rubbing circles on her back. She turns her tightly shut eyes into his neck, her fingers fisted in the hem of her shirt ... His shirt.

"Kate ... Kate, you're not okay," his baritone skirts across her hair. Silence. "Kate?"

"I'll be fine, Castle," she has to force through clenched teeth. "Just ... A minute, ok?"

He feels like he holds his breath for an hour before she finally pulls her face away from his neck. Her eyes are dark with pain and her hand grips her ribs.

"Kate," he says softly. "What if he broke your ribs? What if ... What if we made it worse ... Last night?"

The corner of her mouth quirks and she shakes her head.

"We didn't make it worse," she says quickly. "I'm just a little banged up, I'm not broken."

He stares for a moment, clearly a retort ready and waiting on his tongue. Kate's hand releases her ribs and rests on his bare chest, her nails lightly scratching his peck. She hums into his lips as she kisses him, her tongue tracing his bottom lip.

"Definitely didn't make it worse," she whispers as her fingers find his jaw and lightly scratch at his morning stubble.

His fingers are light at her ribs. Gentle. Too gentle for what she needs. Too gentle to prove that she is all right, that she isn't broken anymore. She growls and nips at his lip telling him he better knock it off, but his fingers grip her bicep and push her away. He looks into her eyes, searching, concern crinkling the edges.

"Let me look."

She quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head.

"Didn't get a good enough look last night?" she murmurs.

His face is serious. Not even a hint of mirth at her attempt at a joke. Oh. He's serious. She sighs, the moment lost, and scoots herself up, his hand at her waist guiding her into the v of his legs. She unbuttons the few buttons she had done up on his shirt as she settles. She reaches for the lapel just as his fingers skirt the hem and push it up her back. A smile pulls at her lips ... He's being modest? Really? His fingers graze a particularly sensitive spot on her back and she sucks in a breath.

"I don't see anything, but, God, Kate, what did he do to you?"

His hand rests on her bare waist, his thumb circling. She fights the shiver creeping up her spine. How did the things she wanted to forget keep invading this morning? She had to get away from it, away from Beckett, away from the reminders of how stupid she was. She stiffens and reaches to button the shirt closed as she slides over his leg and off the bed. He had kicked her ass. While she begged for the name she had hunted 13 years for he had beaten her, choked her and nearly killed her. He probably thought he had succeeded. And all she wanted to do was not think about it for a little while. Not think about it right now and just enjoy their first morning together.

"I'm hungry. Breakfast?"

She turns to him as she buttons the last button on his shirt and meets his conflicted eyes.

"Kate-"

"Pancakes. That's the proper breakfast for this situation, right? Pancakes? 'Thank you for last night' and all that?" she rambles as she forces a smile to her lips.

Castle sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. He forces himself to smile at her, reminding himself that she is still standing in front of him, still wearing his shirt, still in his loft and still with him. He looks at her, her face the closed off detective where the woman who was trying to get him to feel her up just a moment before had been. Okay. They could do the morning after, her way. Pancakes and smiles, coffee and soft brushes of fingers, stolen kisses and subtle meaning. Okay.

"Okay," he sighs. "Pancakes."


	3. Chapter 3

His fingers grip hers around the spatula, his front pressed as tightly into her back as he can without pressing her into the stove. With a flick of his wrist he flips the pancake.

"3 points!"

He jerks her arm into the air with his own in celebration and she laughs. She glances over her shoulder at him and pulls her lip between her teeth once she sees his smile, the one that reaches his eyes. He's happy. His unoccupied hand comes up to her face, his thumb pulling her lip from between her teeth. He lingers and she kisses the pad of his thumb before biting at it softly. She watches his pupils dilate before pulling her hand from his and turning back to watch the pancake he had just flipped. He exhales against her hair and she grins. Hah.

He slips away from her with a brush of his fingers across her spine. She glances after him and watches as he moves around the kitchen gathering plates and silverware. She smiles to herself as she turns back to her job. Huh. 'Her job' ... like they're a family and she is taking part of the burden ... whoa. Her breath catches and suddenly his arm is settling at her back, his nose pressing into the side of her head, breath skirting her hair.

"You're going to burn that one."

His whispered voice grounds her again, keeps the freak out at bay. She turns her head and his lips skim her hair to her temple, resting skin on skin. He takes the spatula from her, removes the last pancake from the griddle and sets it down on the counter. She can feel how tense he is, keeping himself from asking her what she can tell he so badly wants to. Like he can read her mind. Like he can tell she just needs to let it go. She detaches from him, his fingers lingering at the dip in her back, following her as she goes. She moves to the coffee pot and refills the mug she left beside it. She hears him shuffling behind her as she opens the fridge for the creamer. Vanilla. He knows her ... it suddenly strikes her how well he knows her. He knows to keep quiet when she needs it, how she takes her coffee, how to touch her, how to kiss her, when to push her.

She turns to hunt for a spoon, but him with his back to her stops her. The muscles of his back move beneath the tee shirt he wears and she suddenly wants to press her mouth to them, feel the way they ripple beneath her touch. A smile tugs at her lips as she steps into him, her arms wrapping around him from behind and her open mouth coming to rest between his shoulder blades, teeth scraping lightly. She hums as she feels him freeze in his plating of their breakfast. She noses the bone that sticks out at the top of his spine before resting her chin against his shoulder blade.

He tries to glance at her over his shoulder, but he stares into her forehead and that isn't enough. He drops the spatula back to the counter, his hand covering hers, before he turns in the circle of her arms. His hands settle at her hips and he skims his lips across her forehead. Her fingers fist in his shirt as she pushes up on her toes and brushes her nose against his. He bands his arms around her back, squeezing her and bringing their lips together. She laughs against his mouth, her breath fanning his face.

"Breakfast is getting cold," she chides, her lips grazing his as she speaks.

He makes a noise in his throat like a growl and suddenly her back is against the counter and he is pressing into her.

"What microwaves and ovens are for," he whispers before his mouth is hot against hers and his teeth are pulling at her lower lip.

She loses herself in him. All thoughts of breakfast are suddenly forgotten as she hooks her leg around his thigh and her hands grab at the muscles of his back that so enticingly started this. His mouth detached from hers and trails across her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. She arches into him, her head lolling to the side to grant him access. He has her panting into his ear when he grabs at her thighs, pulling her up so that she is sitting on the counter. A sharp 'ah' escapes her lips, the type associated with pain, and he stops, pulls back. Her head is hanging foreword, her eyes shut, but not squeezed in pain. He squeezes her thighs and she looks at him, her eyes shining with lust and pain.

"I'm ok," she insists, her fingers wrapping around his arm and squeezing gently.

She turns to the plates on the counter and plucks a pancake from one, tearing a piece from it and popping it in her mouth. She smiles at him when she notices his look of disdain and shrugs one shoulder, the one that won't give her grief.

"S'good," she mumbles around her fingers covering her mouth in ingrained politeness.

His hand snatches her fingers away and his lips replace them. She freezes in surprise and before she can react he pulls away, lingering close, his body resting against the counter between her legs.

"Mm. Very good."

She raises an eyebrow and he backs away from her, turning and heading for the coffee maker. He scoops up her coffee mug and take a long sip as he walks back to her. She reaches for the mug and he passes it over before snagging a pancake off the same plate she took hers from. He leans against her knees, her ankles now crossed, and takes a big bite of the pancake as she sips at her coffee.

"Mm," he mumbles around his food. "You are so lucky I can cook."

She breathes out a laugh before covering his mouth with her fingers, feeling his jaw working as he chews.

"Mouth closed, Castle. I don't need to wear your breakfast."

She nibbles at the pancake still in her hand and he takes the mug of coffee from her. She doesn't protest, merely watches him. It strikes her how easy they fell into this. The lazy morning, sharing a coffee mug, teasing each other with kisses and smiles and brushes of fingers. Yes. She can do this. She can have him and not lose sight of her mother. She can change. All of those hours spent spilling her guts to Burke have paid off. She realizes she is staring when he speaks.

"What?" he says, swallow before he smiles.

Her gut clenches and she thinks she actually feels her heart physically swell with it. A slow smile spreads across her face and she knows it must radiate from her, must read all over her face. Love. She loves him. She shyly glances down to the coffee in her hands.

"Nothing ... I -"

The shrill sound of her cell phone floods the loft, interrupting her. Her smile falls and they both glance around the expanse of his loft. Where had she left her jacket? Who the hell is calling her? Castle moves away from her and around the island toward the front door. Oh. Right. She wants to smile at that memory. Wants to remember how she felt in that moment forever. But the shrill melody of her phone as Castle walks closer to her, her leather jacket still dripping drops of rain water on his floors clutched in one hand, forces her into the present. He fishes it out and passes it to her, a full two feet of distance between them. As if she forgot she was holding them, she places the mug of coffee on the counter and drops the pancake back to the plate. She stares at the phone a moment reading the name on the screen, battling with herself over whether or not to answer it, whether or not to let the world in just yet.

She takes the phone from him, stares at the ridiculous picture of Kevin Ryan that Castle had made his icon picture when she was distracted, before pressing the ignore button and sending him to voicemail. She places the phone on the counter screen down, her fingers lingering. She needs to talk to him, she knows. He needs to know she is okay, that they are okay, that she understands. But not now. Not right now. She looks up at Castle whose face is twisted in confusion. She sighs and reaches for his hand. He comes to her, lacing their fingers as he does.

"Not right now," she tells him, searching his eyes for understanding. "This is ours."

His face softens then, understanding what she means. He presses his body between her legs and leans his forehead on hers.

"They will find out, you know? They're detectives."

"Mmm ... Good ones," she responds, her hands skimming up his arms to his neck. "But they won't have a clue if you keep the 'just got laid' grin off your face."

He arches away from her, his jaw hanging open. She runs her thumb along his bottom lip.

"I ... I'm ... " he sighs. She's right, he is grinning. Like a fool.

"I just ... want this to be ours ... for a while," she says slowly, her fingers tracing a line down his neck and around the collar of his t-shirt.

He gives her a small smile and nods, his hair falling into his eyes.

"But ... What if that was a body, Kate? What if he-"

"I resigned."

His head snaps up and their eyes lock, his eyes wide like they had been last night when he ... unh, yea, okay, not the time. She watches the battle rage in his eyes. He wants to say something, but doesn't know how, doesn't know if he should, doesn't know if he can without putting his foot in his mouth. Her hands move to his shoulders, resting there lightly. Perhaps not the best way to tell him, Kate. Great.

"I was ... I don't need it anymore," she tells him softly. "I just want you."


	4. Chapter 4

He knows he's staring, that he has a slack-jawed stupid look on his face and he doesn't care. She resigned? As in resigned resigned? No more Detective Beckett? God, why is he being like this? So what? It wasn't the detective he fell in love with, it was the woman behind that wall that was Detective Beckett. Say something, idiot. She blinks like tears might be forming in her eyes and glances down to the phone she left on the counter. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He blinks, coming out of his stupor and his hands grip hers still on his shoulders. She turns worried eyes to him and he let's a breath out through his nose. What else did she say, Rick? She only wants you. Find the words. Speak.

"When?" Shit, really?

Her eyes flick to his mouth and she huffs a breath through her nose like she's laughing at him for that being all he could come up with to say.

"Yesterday," her voice is shy, reserved.

He wants to know why, wants to know what she was thinking, what went through her head as she handed over her badge and gun and walked away from a life-long vendetta. He wants the story.

"I..." damn it, this can't be about you, Rick. "Okay."

Her eyes find his and she has that look on her face that she gets when he says something that might half make sense, but is still insane in her mind. Her eyes look away from him, shift to stare at something far off behind him and he see the annoyed tug of her lips. Shit, shit. No. He didn't mean it that way.

"I'm not ... I didn't mean ..." he sighs, licks his lips that have suddenly gone dry. "Kate. If that is what you want, then I will be here. If you want to paint or write or sell knives, whatever you want, I'm here. It's not about the books anymore. Hasn't been ..."

She smirks when he says sell knives. Her eyes soften. He won't ask. He can't. She wants a normal morning after and she's going to get it. He picks up their coffee mug and takes a sip, blanches when he finds it cold. He turns away to pour a fresh, warm cup, gather his thoughts, keep his foot out of his mouth. When he turns back her hand is covering her mouth and her eyes are boring a hole into the back of her phone. He walks back over to her, takes the hand laying idle in her lap and presses the warm mug into it. Her eyes flick to the coffee and she smiles.

"Thanks ..." she looks up at him, her eyes sad in the warm light of his kitchen. She sips at the coffee and he can see her muscles relax, let the tension of the interruption go. She resigned. His hands settle on either side of her, thumbs stroking idly at the exposed skin of her thighs. He sees it in her eyes first, the dark embers coming to the surface. A smile pulls at the corners of her lips, but she won't set it free. He slips his thumbs under the hem of the shirt she wears, his shirt, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Mm. Two can play this game.

He glances down and grabs another pancake off the plate next to her. He hears the coffee mug hit the counter and before he can turn back to her, her hands are on him, one wrapped around his neck, one pulling roughly at his cheek to turn his head to her. His eyes meet hers, now only inches away. The hand from his cheek grabs at the collar of his t-shirt as she pulls herself closer to him with her heels digging into the cabinets, her body pressed as close to his as she possibly can. He sucks in his own breath when their bodies intimately connect and he presses his nose into hers. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers running through his hair.

"Tease," she breathes against his lips before painting them with her own. He tries desperately to keep control, not give in to her when her tongue flirts with the seam of his mouth, not lose all hope when that little moan he learned drives him crazy comes from her. She nips at his upper lip and that does it, he's lost in her. His hand snakes under her shirt and grips her thigh causing what he can only define as a squeak to come from her. Their tongues meet as he wraps his fingers around her neck, thumb at her jaw to angel her head where he wants it. Oh, he is so gone. She crosses her ankles behind him and squeezes with her knees making him gasp and pull away from her. She's panting when he looks at her, her hair wild and eyes burning, lips red from his.

Her hands slip down to his ears, fingers stroking as she smiles at him and bites at her lip. His hand stills high on her thigh, close to her hip. He would love round two, but his kid will be home soon and she wants this to be theirs. Like a cold shower, his arousal fades to a burning ember. It's fine, it is. He gets it. Keep it from everyone else so there aren't twenty questions every time they see them, no prying eyes picking up every little detail so they can be whispered about in the break room. Shit. No break room. But a part of him wants to run through the streets shouting it for the masses, tell everyone that she is finally his and he's not letting go. He has to let go. His kid will be home soon.

He sighs and rests his forehead on hers, closes his eyes.

"Kate-"

"Don't," she interrupts him, still a little breathless. "I ..."

"Kate, Alexis will be home soon and ... if you ... if we want to keep this between us ..."

She pulls her head away from his and smiles up at him. My God is he cute when he can't find the words. Her heels knock the cabinet as her knees slip down his sides, settle at his thighs. She picks up her coffee mug and pulls it between them, takes a sip. He looks like he would squirm we're he not so close to her, like he's worried he put his foot in his mouth again.

"Guess we better finish our breakfast then."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: I wanted to say thank you to those that have been following this story, have reviewed this story and who have enjoyed this story. I was determined to have it finished before the premiere on Monday and I have succeeded! I hope you like the conclusion. **

She steps out of his bathroom, one of his ridiculously soft and large bath towels wrapped around her, her hair twisted back in a bun that she is keeping in place with a random hair tie she found in the drawer of his vanity. Alexis's she assumes. No sign of Castle. She shrugs it off. Maybe he's writing. He better be writing after not following her in there ... unh. Okay, Kate, clothes. She rounds the bed expecting to see her clothes scattered on the floor. Nothing. Her eyebrows knit and she glances up to the lamp. No bra either. What ... The bedroom door opens and she spins.

"Oh, you're done," Castle says, her clothes folded and held carefully between his hands. She glances down at them. "They were still a little damp ... so I ... tossed them in the dryer real quick."

A smile plays at her lips and she squints at him as her eyes roll to the side. Dryer? Where has he hidden a laundry room? She steps up to him, her hand resting over his on top of her clothes. She sees him swallow before he opens his mouth again.

"Your jacket is still a little wet ... Might be ruined. I know a guy..."

Her fingers trail up to his wrist, circle his wrist bone before sliding off onto her clothes, her other hand cradling them underneath.

"'You know a guy'?" she practically purrs.

Mmm. No. Alexis will be home soon. Very soon. He swallows again.

"Uh ... Yea. Mother takes her things to him to be repaired or cleaned. Must like him from the bills I get."

Kate nods and looks down at her clothes. She pauses a moment, absorbing this moment. How domestic it is. How easy it is between them. Why had she been so afraid of this? Of letting him love her? She huffs at herself, her stupid self, before looking up at him and smiling.

"Thank you," and she doesn't just mean for her clothes. She turns for the bathroom, letting some false sense of modesty stand between them. Yea, okay, whatever. She feels her towel start to slip as she reaches the threshold and let's it go, sliding low on her back, one side slipping free under her arm as she reaches for the door behind her. She hears a whimper come from him as the door shuts. Hah. A triumphant, girly smile comes over her face. She catches her reflection in the mirror as she places her clothes on the vanity. Oh, she is so done for. Her hands cover her cheeks, her fingers slipping down to cover the smile that just wont go away. She shakes her head at herself and bends to swipe her underwear off the floor where she left them during her shower. She dresses quickly, laughing as she finds her bra nicely folded between her shirt and jeans. He has spent way too much time with women.

She grabs her socks, folded also, and leaves the bathroom. She glances at his bedside clock and she makes her way through his bedroom, again sans Castle. Nearly noon. Wow. How did that happen? She wanders through his office and pauses at his desk a moment. So many times before she has been in this room, but never has she seen it this way. They had made it to his desk last night before he had pulled back on her hand, spun her around and pressed her into the edge of his desk. Mm. Such a better memory than him reading his own book to her four years ago.

"Kate?"

She flinches like a child who has been caught doing something wrong and looks at him. The door to his office is open and he stands at the threshold, a gray t-shirt and jeans replacing the boxers and white tee he had on earlier during their breakfast. He looks concerned. Right. Alexis. She wanders over to him, not touching, not letting herself touch him because she has to leave and if she touches him she won't. He smells clean, like dryer sheets, with a hint of coffee and him. She wants to say something, but nothing makes any sense in her head. It all sounds stupid and meaningless.

"Boots are by the door," he tells her.

She nods and he steps back to let her through. She hears him follow her to the front door, close but not too close. She finds her boots under the entryway table as he said. She hops on one foot and then the other pulling her socks on, hears him open his coat closet. She slides into her boots, zips them and then stand, sees him behind her in the mirror he has over the table. He is holding a sweat jacket, navy blue and probably about ten sizes too big for her. He catches her eyes in the mirror, apology in his own. It's okay, she wants to say. It's her fault anyway, she wants it to stay between them. She knows. He holds the sweat jacket up for her and she backs up to him, slips her arms into the sleeves. His hands linger on her shoulders and she reaches up to catch one before he pulls away, turns to face him. She brushes the fingers of her other hand down his jaw, over his lips, bites at her own. Her hand falls to his chest, rests over his heart and she can feel what she does to him, how fast his heart beats for her. Because of her. Unh, Castle.

She lets go of him and turns for the front door. His hand appears on the door knob, he opens it for her and let's her by, follows her out. The elevator takes entirely too long as they stand in his hallway side by side, neither touching the other or daring to look at the other. He wants her to stay and she wants to stay, but ... yea, she has to go. The elevator dings and the door slides open to the little old lady who lives above him. He smiles at her as they walk on, lean against the back wall of the elevator. Castle keeps his eyes on the numbers above the door as they slide from 3 to 2 and finally to 1. Kate hooks her pinky around his and he looks down at her. She stares forward, watching his neighbor exit the elevator, that sly smile on her face like she is remembering something. Mm. Yea, he won't forget too soon either.

She steps forward first, their linked pinkies making her arm pull behind her. She looks over her shoulder at him and he smiles at her, his eyes hooded, hair falling in them. A silly, girly grin hits her suddenly and she looks down at the floor, her hand coming to rest against her jaw instead of twirling her hair that is trapped in a bun at the base of her skull. They take their time getting to the door, Castle's neighbor making her slow way out the glass door to the street ahead of them. He steps in front of Kate, catching the door before it can close completely, taking the chance and threading his fingers through hers. The car he has called is parked on the street, it's hazard lights blinking as it waits for her. He lets her step out the door ahead of him before pulling on their linked fingers, turning her to face him and banding his free arm around her. She arches against him, pushes up on her toes so that they are eye to eye. Her free hand settles at his ear, thumb brushing his ear lobe. Her eyes flick between his and his lips.

"So ..." she whispers. "You liked it?"

He blinks. Seriously? Evil woman.

"Ye ... yeah," he manages to stutter.

She grins, wide and lovely and leans in, her nose brushing his, eyes closing.

"Me too," she whispers before pressing her open mouth against his. Her teeth nip at his lower lip, her tongue soothing it before she pulls away, turns shining eyes up to his. Her hand slips to his chest, pushes, and he knows he has to let her go. She steps back toward the car, their linked fingers pulling their arms out between them. She squeezes his fingers and he let's hers slip from his as she opens the door to the car. She lingers, her eyes trying to convey everything she can't say, before she steps into the car, ducks her head and disappears.

He stands outside the glass door watching the car pull away and sighs. A flash of red hair appears around the corner and his stomach flips. That was close. He grins wide as his daughter bounds up to him and hugs him with far more energy than should be allowed for pulling an all-nighter with her friends.

"Morning, Dad," Alexis says enthusiastically. "X-box, huh?"

She pulls away from him, his jaw on the sidewalk, and levels him with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin. She tilts her head, pats his shoulder and then turns to enter their building. You have no idea.


End file.
